


Broken Keys

by relictionism (orphan_account)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Character Death, Emotional Hurt, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Not A Happy Ending, Sadness, Suicide, akeshu - Freeform, semi-detailed depictions of violence, shuake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 11:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18872026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/relictionism
Summary: (Major trigger warnings for suicide, implied self-harm, semi-graphic violence, and death.)They were a duo, playing with and for each other. Goro's violin wasn't complete without Akira's piano-- Which is why Goro Akechi never picked up the instrument again.After the suicide of Akira Kurusu, Goro mourns the death of his partner, his best friend, and above all, the love of his life.





	Broken Keys

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. Just a final trigger warning for suicide, implied self-harm, violence, and death here before you proceed.

Goro regretted it.

Goro regretted _everything_.

Why didn’t he say more? Why didn’t he _do_ more? Why didn’t he, at the _very **fucking** least_, stay with him more?

Those thoughts swarmed his head, beat himself down with his own voice, screamed, _yelled_ at Goro Akechi— He tormented himself more than he ever had the past week, eyes only blankly looking through the small, circular window of the door that separated the common area, and the room where the furnace blazed.

White lips, pale faced, eyes closed and looking almost _peaceful_ , Goro almost didn’t recognise Akira Kurusu, almost didn’t think that the body laying on a large tray before the mouth of a blazing fire was the man he’d spent most of his 24 years with.

The image of shining, warm, beautiful, _alive_ black eyes seared into Goro’s head, and he wished that he didn’t have to think of them _now_ , didn’t even want to think at _all_.

The burning flames reflected off of Goro’s red irises, and a choked sound came from his throat.

_“Your eyes are really beautiful. They look like fire sometimes, too.. I like it.”_

Akira’s voice.  
Akira’s smile, Akira’s laugh— his hands, his lame jokes, the warmth of his body, the _love_ his heart poured out.  

 _Every_ single memory of _every_ second he spent with Akira Kurusu played like a film in Goro’s head, made him want to scream and cry and just _break down_ , made him want to curl up into a ball and sob into his knees, made him even want to throw himself at the flames to save Akira— But he _couldn’t_.

He couldn’t move from his spot, he couldn’t push past those doors and hold Akira’s hands in his for just _one_ last time, just to make sure that he was actually _dead_ , that the warmth of his palms were actually _gone_ and replaced with an icy cold caused by no heartbeat.

_“You and Morgana compete a lot on who lays down on my chest first, but you know I’d always let you go first since you like to ‘hear the melody of my heart.’ Very poetic for a musician, by the way. Are you sure you shouldn’t be a writer instead?”_

Goro felt numb all around, hardly felt the hands of friends and family on his back, squeezing his shoulder, trying to pull him away from the sight of Akira Kurusu’s deceased body being pushed into the furnace.

He didn’t feel his nails digging into the skin of his palms, didn’t feel the blood pushing out of the wounds— didn’t feel the tears streaming down his cheeks until his vision blurred and he had to blink, had to miss _one_ more second of seeing Akira’s face for the _final_ time.

_“Forever, right? You’ll play with me forever?”_

_“Akira, my violin would never be complete without your piano. Of course it’s forever.”_

* * *

 

“Goro, hurry up now. Your lessons start in half an hour and we still have to get you there.”

“Yes, mama!”

Goro didn’t know what to expect, but playing the violin sounded fun! He was going to be learning with someone else, too! But that someone else, as he was told, wasn’t going to play the violin like him. Goro had been shown a picture of the big instrument his partner was going to play, and that made little 5-year-old Goro Akechi wonder how big his ‘accompanist’ was to play _such_ a large thing.

And so, with his mother sitting beside him in a barely-occupied bus, Goro swung his small legs up and down, one hand holding onto the handle of his violin case. Goro would sometimes bounce in his seat, a bright smile on his cheeks whenever he looked up at his mother, whose red eyes were identical to his own.

His mother was really pretty, with really long, brown hair (that was the same as his!) and the eyes that matched his. Goro asked her once if _he_ would ever look as pretty as her, and his mother only gave him the _biggest_ hug and told him that he was already _beautiful_.

Goro loved his mother a lot, and he knew that his mother loved Goro a lot, too!

* * *

 

“Hi!”

Goro liked the boy’s smile. It was really big and really happy, and Goro liked that! He seemed nice, too.

“I’m Akira! You’re going to be my partner, right? What’s your name? What’s in your bag? Is that what you’re going to play with me? Is it?”

Each of Akira’s questions were more insistent than the last, his eyes wide with curiosity, his smile never falling from his lips. Goro would only proudly lift the case of his violin up with both (tiny) hands, a triumphant smile written on his cheeks.

“Yeah! I’m Goro and I’m going to play the violin! It’s really cool and it sounds really nice,” Goro beamed, proud though he didn’t actually know how to play yet. That’s why he was there with Akira, though. “I can’t wait to hear you play your.. _uh_..”

Goro looked up at his mother, who had her hand on his shoulder the entire exchange, asking for her help with the look in his eyes.

“ _Piano_ , Goro,” she supplied with her gentle voice, and Goro was quick to nod his thanks before looking back at Akira.

“I can’t wait to hear you play your piano, Akira! I’m sure we’ll sound _awesome_ together!”

* * *

 

“Goro, your mother is here to pick you up,” came the voice of Akira’s father, sticking his head into the practise room he and Akira occupied.

Goro was beside Akira on his bench in front of the piano, his violin sitting in its case on the floor beside them. With mirroring hand positions on the keys, they both turned their heads to look at the adult, and Goro had to pout at the news.

Akira was teaching him how to play a lullaby.

At age 9, Goro and Akira had been playing together for just about four years, and not _once_ had Akira ever thought to teach him how to move his hands like _he_ does across the keyboard. Honestly, Goro had to call him a dummy for that.

“But Akira and I were _practising_!” he whined, right when the face of his mother popped up behind Mister Kurusu’s shoulder.

His mother was smiling at them, fond of the two boys together. She knew that Akira was her son’s _bestest_ best friend, and that parting ways was always the part that sucked the most.

Still, he had to go home, and Goro _knew_ he would always have to go home.

“Can’t Goro stay over at our house tonight, dad?”

Goro could only look back to Akira beside him, whose eyes were wide and pleading as he looked up at his father. He could visit Akira’s home?

“Champ, Goro’s mom might not—“

“Oh no, it’s _completely_ fine with me, Kurusu,” Goro’s mother interjected, the smile just _audible_ in her tone.

Goro gasped, his mouth into an ‘O’ as he turned his head _again_ to look at his mother.

Could he _really_?!

“Mama! I _love_ you!”

* * *

 

“Hey, can we try it again from the start? I think we _really_ got it this time!”

Goro looked up from studying his sheet music spread across a stand with his violin on his shoulder and with his bow in his left hand, gazing right into shining, black eyes— which were framed by fake glasses, because _of course_ Akira would buy dumb fake glasses for his dumb cute face and make him look even more _dumb cute_ than he already was.

He was fourteen, and Akira was thirteen. They may already be _teenagers_ but he wasn’t afraid of calling Akira cute.

“Akira, you’ve said that five times now,” Goro chided, though a grin crept up his cheeks when Akira responded with eager nods.

The boy turned back to his keys without even waiting for Goro’s reply, and Goro would jokingly _huff_ because he _knew_ that Akira knew he’d do whatever he said anyway.

“Because I just know we can sync it up to performance level now, Gogo! _Honest_!”

Chuckling, Goro would nod to Akira’s back, lifting his bow back up to the strings as he watched Akira place his fingers above the black and white keys.

“Alright, but can you quit it with the nickname? It’s not cute anymore, y’know.”

Akira knew he was lying. Goro _loved_ all the nicknames Akira called him.

* * *

 

“Akira, we should get up.”

“ _Mmm_..”

“ _Akira Kurusu_ , we need to _practise_!”

“Gimme like.. _Ten_ more minutes..”

Goro pressed his chin down on Akira’s chest, unable to move anything else from the way Akira’s arms embraced him on the bed. He tried his best to burn a hole into Akira’s face with the power of his mind.

Nothing happened.

“ _Akira_!”

“ _Shoosh_. Less talk, more sleep.”

“Your parents are going to wake you up sooner or later, y’know.”

“I don’t care. My bed, my rules.”

Akira’s arms only cuddled Goro tighter, treating him like the bigger-than-him teddy bear he saw Goro as. He had to give up in that moment, because Akira could be even more stubborn than _he_ was, at times. There would’ve been no point trying further.

Plus, Akira was warm.

At seventeen, Goro laid his head down atop Akira’s chest, right above his heart. For what must’ve been the millionth time already over the years they’d known each other, he closed his eyes to listen to the sound of Akira’s heartbeat, humming a small melody he’d made up to the steady rhythm.

Outside Akira’s bedroom window, Goro knew that the early morning air blew cold, knew already the usual songs the birds nested outside his house sang. He was glad for the blankets spread over them.

* * *

 

“Goro, have you seen my glasses—“

“Above the piano.”

“The keys—“

“You put them in your pocket five minutes ago.”

“.. My heart?”

Goro laughed, striding over to Akira and planting a sweet kiss to his lips.

“Where _my_ heart used to be before you stole it, you dirty thief.”

Akira beamed at Goro, only closing the space between their lips and placing a hand above the brunette’s cheek. Goro soaked in Akira’s scent, _lost_ himself in the kiss they shared, let himself feel the simplest yet most _intimate_ of touches Akira blessed him with.

When Goro withdrew, Akira rested his forehead on Goro’s. His _beautiful_ black eyes stared into Goro’s soul, and Goro was glad to bare his entire being to the man.  

Twenty years old and living with Akira Kurusu, the two were dressed in matching suits at early morning. If they didn’t leave in the next twenty minutes, though, they’d be late for Goro’s mother’s wedding.  

“Good morning,” Akira whispered, his voice quiet and fond in the small gap between them.

Goro closed his eyes, a smile pulling up by the corners of his lips when Akira’s hands cupped his cheeks. 

“Good morning.”

* * *

 

“Baby, you said you’d be here before me.”

“ _Sorry, cupcake. I had to pick up something important but I **promise** I’ll be there in twenty. Just know that I’m breaking **so** many _traffic _laws for you, Gogo. I love you!_ ”

Goro shouldn’t have laughed into the phone.

“That’s _dangerous_ , you idiot! Slow down, you might get into an accident.”

“ _I’d gladly die for you, by the way, haha. You in our special place?_ ”

“Where _else_ would I be, dummy? Miss Yamamoto says she enjoyed our last concert, by the way. Says you finally learned how to, and I quote, “ _stop slouching over the piano so much._ ””

“ _Yikes. She’s still all about posture, huh?_ ”

“I’m glad. If she didn’t fix _yours_ , you’d have a hunchback by now.”

“ _I’d still be cute_.”

“You would,” Goro laughed. He didn’t hear Akira’s reply for a few seconds before,

“ ** _Oh_** _, gotta hang up for now. See you in a few?_ ”

“Of course..” Goro smiled to himself, adding, “I love you.”

“ _I love you, too, Goro Akechi_.”

Goro slipped the phone back into his pocket after Akira had hung up, afterwards letting his eyes roam the practise room he spent his childhood within. He was seated on the piano bench— the very same one Akira Kurusu had sat on as he perfected his art, as he poured all of his heart and soul into the instrument that completed the sound of Goro’s own.

The same bench they shared their first kiss on.

Goro was glad that the music school was still up and running, though. This place held _too_ many memories for both him _and_ the love of his life, and he was damn sure that they wouldn’t let the place go down in history without at _least_ trying to stage an intervention.

Lifting the cover off the old, upright piano, Goro splayed his hands over the keys. He thought back to the few lessons Akira had given him, thought back to the notes of the _one_ song he could play on the piano decently.

With steady (though hesitant) hands, Goro hummed along to the little lullaby Akira had taught him all those years ago, fingers doing a slow dance across the keys. When he’d finished, he heaved a content sigh, a smile on his lips. Akira would be so proud of him, if he heard how Goro had played that time.

Speaking of, had twenty minutes already passed yet?

Goro checked his phone. Akira still had five minutes on the clock.

And so, Goro waited, sitting patiently in the old practise room. He’d sometimes press the keys on the piano once more, would play strings of random notes, different melodies. He tried imitating his boyfriend’s playing, though laughed at himself when he did.

Goro was definitely _much_ more proficient on the violin more than anything. It was only a pity that he didn’t bring it with him, if he knew Akira would take so long to arrive.

He looked at his phone again. Akira was late by fifteen minutes already.

Should he call Akira? But then again, he was always the one to warn the man about texting (or calling) and driving at the same time, so he really shouldn’t.

Goro waited more.

And more.

And some more.

He was staring at the wall when his phone began buzzing. Goro jumped, startled out of his daze, before he picked it up off the keys and looked at the name of the caller, and accepted the call with no hesitation.

“Akira, I told you not to be on your phone while—“

“ _Goro_..”

That.. That wasn’t right. Why did Akira’s throat sound so dry? He was just _fine_ minutes ago, what—

“ _Hey.. I— Jesus **FUCK** —“ _

Goro shot up from his seat, scrambling out of the practise room. Panic clouded his brain, made his steps quick, his heart pound _painfully_ hard against his chest when he exited the music school and stood outside in the cold, December air. 

“Where are you?”

“ ** _SHIT, AGH—_** “

Heavy breaths sounded right into Goro’s ear, where he pressed the screen of his phone _hard_ against. He didn’t even realise how tight his grip was on the device when Akira’s voice reached him again.

“ _You.. ha, **fuck**.. y’were right, beautiful.._”

“Akira, where _are_ you?” Goro demanded, voice desperate. His body was shaking— from the cold or from the fear, he didn’t know.

All he _did_ know was that he had to get to Akira. He had to find him, had to _see_ that he was _okay_ and that he was probably just pulling a _really bad, really fucked-up_ early April Fool’s prank on him.

But Akira wouldn’t do something like this as a joke. He _wouldn’t_ scare Goro like this. He _promised_ not to!

“ _Wait, **no**! I need to tell hi— **Let me talk to Goro, GODDAMMIT**!”_

A scream.

No, it was more like a cry. A _pained_ , blood-curdling, spine-chilling cry ringing so loudly that Goro flinched, his ear aching at the noise though he made no move to pull the phone away from his head.

Goro heard wet noises from the other end, his stomach feeling both tied _and_ like it wanted to remove all the contents within at the same time. He fell to his knees, one hand on the snow as he gagged and coughed, though nothing would come out.

“We’re taking him to the Tokai University Hospital,” a new voice informed, and the call had ended. Goro ran to the taxi cabs as fast as his feet would take him.

At age twenty-three, Goro found out that Akira Kurusu had crashed into two other cars in the heart of Shibuya due to the weather conditions, cradling nothing else but a small, velvet box close to his chest with broken hands as he was uncovered from the wreck and taken to the emergency room.

* * *

 

Goro awoke to the sound of wood breaking one night in mid-August.

His head spun with the speed at which he sat up, knowing already that Akira had left the bed without needing to look at his side. He rushed out of their bedroom, panicked though he knew what was going on— Akira was having another breakdown.

Even in the dark of their living room, he could clearly make out Akira’s silhouette standing over the piano, a metal stool held high above his head before he brought it down to the instrument sitting in the corner of the room. Goro flinched at the sound of notes mashing together, at the dissonance, and at the sight of Akira _destroying_ what he treasured the _most_.

“Akira, _please_ —“ he pleaded, steps careful as he approached the man.

Akira threw the seat down onto his piano, before collapsing onto the carpet himself. Surrounded by shards of wood and broken, black and white keys, he sobbed into himself, knees pulled up to his chest, hands rubbing over his eyes.

Goro’s heart _ached_. He felt like someone had taken a dull knife and stuck the blunt edge into his chest as he watched Akira scream, watched the tears flowing down his cheeks, saw his crooked fingers bent just _slightly_ , the farthest he could get them since the accident— knew all the scars running up his hands and arms, covering his entire body.

His arms wrapped around Akira, and Goro squeezed him as closely and as tightly as he could, rocking the man back and forth in an attempt to soothe him. He shut his eyes tight to stop his own tears from falling before re-opening them when he was at eye-level with the love of his life.

Goro had to be strong for Akira. He had to be the one Akira could depend on at any time.

“Hey, I’m here, okay? I’m _here_ , Akira. _Please_ look at me. Look at me and _breathe_ , okay? We’ll breathe _together_ , just like we practised. Deep breaths in at three, and deep breaths out at three, yeah?”

Goro tried to demonstrate, did his best to keep Akira’s eyes on him as he inhaled and exhaled for three seconds each, did his best to keep himself steady.

 _Don’t cry, Goro. Akira needs you now more than ever_.

“With me, okay, Akira? _Inhale_ , then exhale.”

It took an hour and a half before Akira had stopped crying, limp and asleep with stained cheeks and, as Goro realised too late, new scars on his wrists. 

* * *

 

Goro could clearly remember each and every detail of the day Akira had killed himself, even as much as he wanted the nightmares to stop constantly reminding him.

Goro remembered kissing Akira before he left the house for the convenience store, since Akira had so politely asked him to buy some ice cream so they could enjoy a movie together again after all the months that they hadn’t had a proper date, as Akira said; Goro remembered the _tiniest_ glint of hope he saw in Akira’s eyes, how happy he felt for Akira having that; Goro remembered the way his boyfriend would so obviously hide the long-forgotten velvet box behind his back, almost _playfully_ ; Goro remembered coming home with three tubs of coffee crumble (Akira’s favourite) ice cream in a paper bag; Goro remembered calling out to Akira when he heard the TV playing; He remembered dropping the bag onto the carpet.

He remembered, so _painfully_ clearly, dropping to his knees, silent as tears streaked down his face at the sight of a noose around Akira’s throat, hanging _right_ above where the old piano used to sit.

“When did you become so good at lying,” he remembered asking, his mind blank then, his voice quiet.

Now, Goro could only wallow in regret, could only _hate himself_ for not being enough, for not seeing the signs, for not being able to tell that there was _something_ off about Akira Kurusu that day and that he should have **_fucking_** _seen it_.

As Goro cried into his hands, he would _scream_ , would call out, _begging_ for the nightmare to end, hoping so _desperately_ to open his eyes and see Akira looking down on him as they lay in bed with his fake glasses on and ready to comfort him about the bad dream.

But it wouldn’t come, because this was reality.

Akira Kurusu, Japan’s most prized pianist, Goro’s partner and supposed-to-be _husband_ , was dead.

Goro couldn’t stop his tears, and he would never be able to. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hey it's eyrist. Pretty serious one this time around, I know. 
> 
> Look, I honestly began writing this because I wanted shuake angst, but somewhere along the way it just kinda stopped being a fic and started being a way to cope with the loss of a lot of things in my life. I wasn't entirely sure if I should still publish this, but I figured it might be a way for you guys to know just a bit more, if not about me, then about the importance of being there for your friends, or family members, and even sometimes just strangers who are in need. I wanted to spread just a little bit more awareness on the importance of road safety, too. 
> 
> I'm sorry if this is a downer, you guys. I promise, I'll try to make less serious angst next time, but for now, I hope you at least got a satisfying, emotionally-relieving cry out of this. I know I did.


End file.
